what brings you here?

[small_magics]

Isibel lives in her enchanted village, in a hollowed and conveniently-shifting great tree. She travels from it frequently, when she has a new enchantment or elfspell designed that will help someone, or when she meets with the leaders of this or that culture to learn more about their needs, or when someone accepts her offer of torching. The population of Thilanushinyel is not as large as that of Origin, and it may even contain fewer political units, but certainly there are more species; she has a steep learning curve and she throws herself into it.

Today, she is at home. She is not in deep meditation, but she might look like it, eyes closed, floating crosslegged in the air, not paying attention to the weight of the clothes on her body or the wreath of sunny yellow-berried blue-leafed holly resting on her hair, just thinking about hurricanes and the most efficient way to prevent them from forming over the sea. (She can channel immense spells. She is not sure how immense, and it would be very dangerous to lose hold of one. She retains some concern for limiting the size of her enchantments.)

When she is busy with something she cannot interrupt, her door is locked. Today it is not. There were no hurricanes when she last checked, and if any form in the next few hours, she will be able to address them on the spot, she knows; this spell is not urgent on that scale.

If anyone needs her they may come in.

Comments

[small_magics]

"Not everything is," says Isibel. "But I had noticed, yes. Nothing harmful will come into the village; most of it is not inclined to attack outside of it either."

[wildlymagical]

"I'll see if it needs any help while I'm here," he decides.

[small_magics]

"That is kind of you. Mind that you do not eat anything that will hurt you if you attempt to live off the land. There are booklets available that say what things here are safe to eat."

[wildlymagical]

"Where can I find one of these booklets?"

[small_magics]

"You ask the village. You can also ask it for food, if you had not noticed, but it does not deliver into the wilderness."

[wildlymagical]

"...Ask... the village?"

[small_magics]

"It's part of the enchantment. It looks after the people in it. It would have fed you without being asked if you had run out of food, but it otherwise waits." She touches the wall of his house. "Please bring one of the wilderness pamphlets. And a plate of cookies."

Presently his window opens itself and in floats a tray with a pamphlet and assorted desserts. Isibel takes a cookie from the top of the plated heap and bites it.

[wildlymagical]

Lycaelon gives the cookies a look of deep suspicion.

But he takes one, and nibbles on it.

"Pretty good," he says grudgingly.

[small_magics]

"I am glad you like it."

The tray settles itself on a table. The pamphlet flutters open to the first page.

[wildlymagical]

Now somewhat distracted from telling stories, Lycaelon eats his cookie and flips through the pamphlet.

[small_magics]

It has drawings of various flora and fauna and says which are safe to eat and interact with under what conditions.

[wildlymagical]

"Where'd this come from?"

[small_magics]

"I wrote it. And the drawings are wished, as I am not much of an artist."

[wildlymagical]

"I mean, how'd you find out all this?"

[small_magics]

"From my beloved. It was here that I found him."

[wildlymagical]

"...You came to this island and just sort of... found a dragon lying around?"

[small_magics]

"In a cave," says Isibel.

[wildlymagical]

"I guess that's a reasonable place to find a dragon."

[small_magics]

"Yes."

[wildlymagical]

He snorts and shakes his head.

"So, the Lost Lands," he says, and goes on from there.

[small_magics]

Isibel listens attentively.

She may eventually trust this man enough to say what she has not been saying about her beloved.

[wildlymagical]

He talks for the rest of the day, with a break for lunch, delivered by mysterious flying tray. The progression of his actual journey around the world is the framework for what he's saying, but he frequently goes back and forth when new things remind him of old ones.

And then he says goodnight, and mentions that he thinks he'll take the next morning to hike around the island.

[small_magics]

"I hope you enjoy your hike," says Isibel, and she lets herself out. She designs spells; she has one ready by the wee hours of the morning, teleports to the optimal casting site, and focuses and channels. The Lost Lands will be the better for it, and come back to life at a swifter but gentle pace.

[wildlymagical]

That afternoon, Lycaelon brainphones her.

[I'm back! And I made better tea!]

[small_magics]

[Welcome back.]

Port. Knock.